And So It Is
by southern cross
Summary: There is a connection it cannot be denied. S2AU


1Without hesitation his eyes followed her, studying the line of her back, the curve of her calves, memorizing every detail. Since their unlikely return to these walls, he had been drawn to the changes in her.

Since the near disaster that was the botched hostage exchange an unspoken truce had settled between them. Both of them had spent two years in hell. Tethered together once again, he found his curiosity piqued by the gossamer connection.

Whether or not he liked that connection he had yet to consider, but he had acknowledged its existence. So the past few weeks he had watched and learned.

Agent Bristow was a fascinating creature. Both hard as nails and soft as silk. The paradox intrigued him. To say she was complex was an understatement. He had seen her try and save face through Vaughan's betrayal. Watched as she tried to salvage some sort of relationship with her Father. Yet it was the determination to find and punish those who had stolen her time that most delighted him.

Revenge was an emotion he knew and understood. He too wanted answers. Answers achieved at any cost. Perhaps they could be of use to each other. Driven by a force he knew no word for he rose and walked over to the desk she now occupied. No doubt dutifully digging for Intel, he was impressed at the speed with which her fingers flew over the keyboard.

Stopping just behind her, his senses were assaulted by the scent of her. Apples, she smelled like apples. Looking down, he noted that her fingers had paused, and her shoulders had tensed under the blouse she wore.

What was he doing? 'Foolish.' People were everywhere Vaughan and Jack were no doubt close by. Still, he had been drawn to her, and the skin of her neck, exposed by her upswept hair, captivated him. Knowing the risks, his hand extended. Not caring who saw ran a thumb at the point where her hair met unbelievably soft skin.

'Christ.' The curses and fists he thought were coming never came. Boldly the rest of his fingers trailed over the pale skin. What was he doing? Impulse had brought him here and a sudden blinding desire was keeping him. Both feelings could get him killed. He knew better.

Feeling the shifting of muscles beneath his fingertips, his lips pressed together in a hard line. Bracing himself physically for whatever she was about to throw his way, his own body tensed and waited.

Those eyes were following her again. Not surprised, she took a seat at her desk and logged into the computer before her. Blue eyes had been watching her intently for days and days.

At first she'd considered confronting him about it. No matter what the CIA's official position was Sark was still a dangerous man. Finding the strength to actually start that conversation had proven difficult.

So she'd let it go. Eventually it would run its course and he would find someone else to occupy his mind. Perhaps she had been a bit hasty in that assumption, after the first week, sensing his presence at every turn. So she had begun her own study of him.

The lines of his face were harsher, as if his time in custody had etched the last signs of youth from his face. His skills were as finely honed as ever. There was no denying that even after such a long hiatus he was still the best at what he did.

In silence she had discovered the many similarities between them. Parallels the Sydney of two years ago would never have recognized. But now everything around them was different. Except them.

A sinking feeling settled into her stomach as she rolled the words around in her head. Time had passed for everyone but them. Perhaps that was why he was so fascinated with her. He was looking to something familiar.

Movement interrupted her epiphany. Shit, he was walking towards her. Not walking. No, he didn't walk, he sauntered. Armani clung to him like a second skin and she felt the full force of his stare.

Through the mass and maze of desks and bodies she had lost sight of him. Fighting the urge to strain her neck for a better view she was suddenly very very aware of his presence directly behind her.

Inches separated them. Through the silk of her blouse she could feel the heat pouring off of him and she fought the urge to shiver. He smelled so good rich and warm. No one smelled like him, but then when had she learned his smell?

At some point her fingers had stilled, not that she even knew what they had been typing. The rules were changing, she could feel it. Never had he come this close. People were wandering about, anyone interested enough to look would see them.

Feeling his movement behind her, she wished again that she could see him, her neck began to tingle. Then the brush of his thumb on her skin. 'God.' The nerves under his touch lit up and she felt shocks ripple down her spine.

A touch turned into a stroke and she felt her insides melt. This was a dream, a nightmare. Needing confirmation he was real she slowly turned her head. The magic fingers paused and she looked up at him.

Avoiding his gaze she let her eyes travel up his lean frame the cut of his suit which did little to mask the tension in his stance. He was waiting for her, waiting for her to react.

The five points of heat on her neck were clouding her thoughts. Around them phones rang and people talked, but they were disregarded. When her brown gaze locked with fierce blue everything else simply faded away.

How had this happened? The unholy attraction growing between them could never amount to anything. Fully prepared to turn away, she hesitated long enough to see a shift in the gaze baring down on her. Stunned by the raw emotion so clear in normally guarded eyes, she was lost. 'Screw it.' Going on instinct she tilted into his touch allowing him to cradle her head.

Convinced his time in captivity had driven him mad, he held onto her skin daring her to react. Anxious, he waited for her head to turn shocked when no angry words followed the desired movement. The silence was just as unsettling as the thought of a violent struggle amidst CIA staffers.

Then he felt it, this shifting of her head, her cheek seeking refuge in the palm of his hand. The complete submissiveness of the erotic gesture snapped what little control he had. Digging his fingers into her scalp he pulled her to her feet. Flush against him, audience be damned, he fucking wanted her. And he tried not to deny himself anything these days.

Still cupping her head he saw the fire light her eyes and felt her heartbeat grow. Taking her left hand into his right, he turned and without a word pulled her after him.

Ever feel the room spin? Not fun. Except when you end up pressed against a warm body, face cradled in strong hands. The situation was mad. Unexpected pangs of desire shot through her and she admitted that she wanted this, wanted him.

Feeling her hand taken by his she let him pull her away. In the past 60 seconds she had felt more alive than she could ever remember.

Not caring that her jacket hung on the back of the chair or that her computer was still turned on, he only felt her fingers entwined with his. Through halls, down stairs he led them, breathing deeply when the exit finally appeared. Stepping out into the sun, he pulled her along towards the garage and his black BMW.

Where were they going? Not knowing was a new feeling, an exciting one. Once in the sun, his pace increased. Grateful for the iron grip on her hand, she concentrated on taking one step after another, hoping not to fall.

Wearing her black suit was fine for a day behind a desk. Nearly running through a garage was pushing the limits of her calf length skirt. Gripping his arm for more support, she heard his breath catch.

As her free hand wrapped around his forearm drawing her closer to him his step quickened. Digging into his pocket he found his keys. Anxious to be gone one button readied the car for a quick getaway. Was that her breast pressing against her arm? What was she thinking? Where would they go? Too many questions. Too much thinking.

That her touch could have such an effect on him was powerful notion. Smiling to herself she heard a car start. Before she could determine which car was his, she felt herself caught up and pressed against a door.

It was breathtaking. The look of shock mixed with desire, and a wicked smile began to grow on his face. Catching her face between his hands his head drew near. Breathing in that wonderful scent he pressed his lips to hers.

Pressed against him, she wondered if her face revealed the thousands of thoughts running through her head. What would he do? Did he know that is was sinful to be that good-looking? 'Probably'

Thoughts scattered as hands cupped her face. Wicked thumbs stroked her chin and his face grew into a smile. Not just any smile, but one that had her body thinking naughty thoughts.

Then it happened. Lips. Lips of Sark. 'God' Feeling the light touch of his lips on hers and she couldn't help the slight moan that escaped. Slipping her hands up his chest, she clutched at the fabric of his dark blue shirt.

Drawing his tongue over her lips he wanted to taste her, make her moan again and forever. When her lips parted he tilted her head and slipped his tongue in tasting coffee and sugar. If he could he would take her here, roughly, against the car. Witnesses be damned.

Pulling away he pressed kisses to her flushed cheeks and closed eyes. So trusting she was. The thought startled him. Crushing her against him, wrapping himself around her as he had not done to another person in years, he held on.

He was hugging her. She felt his hands settle on her back as she laid her head on his shoulder. So close, so intimate, she hadn't been so close to someone in so very long. Turning away from the thought she pressed a kiss to neck, careful not to get lipstick on his collar.

Forgetting that this was Sark, really Sark, she let the feel of his lips on her hair carry her away from any doubts. Training taught her to go with her gut and they were telling her without question, this was where she needed to be.

Emotions that he was unaccustomed to were rushing through him. He wanted her all to himself. Once her lips had pressed into his neck his mind had been made up. Sydney Bristow had no idea what she was in for. A small kiss pressed into her hair, he opened his eyes.

Sun shine shone down on them. Anyone looking would think two lovers were reuniting or parting. This was a start. A new beginning and he knew that couldn't happen with the interruptions in this city.

Seeds of a plan were growing, he briefly wondered what she would have to say about them. It then occurred to him that they had not spoken a word. Two people so full of words, now seemed at a loss for them.

Pulling from her embrace, delighted at her reluctance to let go, he studied her face. Brown eyes, normally sharp and assessing were glazed over. What was becoming of them? He felt a ripple of something deep in his gut, but what? Tracing her face with his hands he pushed the uneasiness away. There would be time for that later.

Now was the time for action, for movement. His case was in the trunk, one call and it would be done. Would she go for it? Did she have enough faith in whatever they had at this moment to trust him? Trying to read her thoughts, he searched her eyes.

Just then she slipped a hand around his neck, playing with the hair that brushed his collar. Stunned, he could only watch as her face got impossibly close and her lips began to explore his neck, his jaw, his mouth.

It took a second for him to realize that she was kissing him, really kissing him. With one hand scratching at his scalp and another on his cheek, she was having her way with him.

Christ, but she had some sort of power over him.

Digging his fingers into her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead, he found his voice,

"Trust me?"

Wow, direct approach. Did she trust Sark? He was an assassin, a traitor, but he had never lied about it. He was what he was. It should make all the difference, the wavering loyalty and the cold façade. For anyone else it would matter, but in truth, her truth, it didn't.

Honesty, at least with herself, was essential. In her heart she knew that she could trust him, if for nothing else, than to never lie to her. That was not a lot, true, but in the life she led it meant so very, very much.

Thoughts had distracted her, once focused on him she noted that his eyes had grown stormy, his mouth had hardened. He was afraid of her answer. Were that the truth, she knew she was in trouble. Do this and you can never go back. He wouldn't let her.

Well, a leap of faith had carried her through many a situation, with a soft smile, she gaze him her answer.

"Yes."

That simple word meant so much. If he were asleep now, he supposed he would rather not ever awake. That beautiful smile was growing and the punch in the gut convinced him this was no dream, time to make his move.

Sliding a hand down her back, relishing for a moment the delicious curve of her bottom, he opened the door. Without hesitation on her part, she slid onto the seat, casting a glance up at him. The smile on her lips was one he had never thought would be for him.

Closing the door, quickly making his way to the driver's side, he withdrew his phone. Pressing the appropriate numbers, he had only to wait two rings until a gruff voice answered.

They would be arriving in thirty minutes; no further instructions were needed. The pilot would receive further details when they arrived.

Taking one last look around, pleased that no one had yet noticed their departure, he took his seat behind the wheel. She had kicked off her shoes, opting to tuck her feet under her, and began to toy with the sleeve of his jacket the moment the car was in gear.

With a smirk, one that earned him an eye roll, he caressed her thigh before peeling out of the lot.

Sark drove fast. Catching herself on his arm, she sent him a stern look, very fast. It fit though. He handled the car like he did so many other things, with controlled actions, while still pushing the limits.

Leaning her head against the soft leather, she wondered briefly where they were going. He had made a call, so they were going somewhere, but as she studied his profile, she found herself with little care as to their destination. In between changes of gear his hand would rest on hers and that was a far more interesting train of thought.

Crazy thoughts, crazy situations, it all suited her, it suited them. Here she was, with only her cell and a back-up strapped to her thigh, in a car driven to somewhere unknown.

Miles and minutes found them at the airport. The car was heading for long term parking; she caught his eye and raised a questioning eyebrow. He merely shrugged. The silence was comfortable between them. Words would come later if they had to. By the attention his hand was giving her wrist she supposed many things would come later.

Pulling into a spot near the elevator Sark turned off the car. This was it. Looking at her, so relaxed that her eyes had closed, he picked up her hand. Feeling her eyes now on him, he pulled her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. He much preferred being on this end of them that much was certain.

"Ready for this?"

This was her last out.

"You bet."

No hesitation. Once she made up her mind, she went through whole heartedly, how could he have forgotten? It had made her one hell of an opponent. Letting go of her hand, he left her to find her shoes.

She had just slipped on the second when he opened her door. Extending his hand, knowing that she didn't need his help, the gesture was simply a remnant of his upbringing. Her smile indicated she was neither used to nor opposed to the action. Would he get used to that smile? Would he grow accustomed to having it sent his way? As dangerous as the attachment was a part of him hoped so. 'Hope?' Words were coming back into his vocabulary that had been absent for many years.

He grew aware of her stare. She was trying to read his face. Trying to figure out where his thoughts had gone without her. With a wink he turned and headed to the trunk.

Aware she stood behind him; he fought the instinct to step to the side. His back was exposed; he was vulnerable to an attack. This was a time for trust and so he fought the urge and reached instead for the silver brief case.

Removing the item, he closed the trunk and settled the case on top, careful not to scratch the paint as he did.

Force of habit had drawn her feet behind him. Advantage over an adversary at all times. Her training was interfering and it frustrated her. Before she could move, she saw his shoulders tense.

'Shit.' Catching her bottom lip she wondered what he would do, what she should do. Before she could decide, his body relaxed and he subsequently removed a brief case from the trunk.

The echo resonated around them and she jumped. Shaking her head she stepped up next to him, curious as to what he was doing. With a flick of his thumb the case opened, and recognition dawned. Assorted files common for any business person was present, but it was the compartment beneath that was most useful, hidden to even the most powerful of x-rays, she had used a similar case many times.

Withdrawing both his weapon and its holster from the small of his back he dropped them in, glancing over at her he raised an eyebrow. Rolling her eyes she grabbed onto his arm and drew up her skirt until her back up was revealed.

Just as she was about to un-strap it, her hands were stilled. Surprised she briefly caught his eyes before they turned to her raised leg. Grateful for the strength of his arm, her breath caught when fingers wrapped around her thigh. Curious digits searched for the clasp and she lost all coherent thought.

Smooth, white skin taunted him. The urge to taste the lines being revealed was strong enough he ground his teeth rather than give in. His fingers traveled miles it seemed in search of the tiny clasp that held the gun to her leg. Metal met skin, success at last, his eyes rose to hers in triumph, only to be met with a blatant look of desire that floored him.

'Fuck.' Fingers dug into her flesh, the gun, forgotten, dropped to the ground; he pulled her against him roughly. Hooking her raised leg around his waist he ground his erection into her, swallowing her moan with his lips.

'My God.' The tiny sparks of pain radiating from her thigh under his grip, ran up her body, slamming into the warm pleasure his tongue was delivering into her mouth. The combination was as potent as any drug she knew of, and she knew them all.

Too many clothes separated them. She wanted to be closer, rocking against the hard length between her thighs, his moan rumbled through her. Her leg hitched up higher his hips pressed her back against the car, digging her nails into his jacket she pulled him even closer.

Alarms began to sound. Literally, all around them echoes of a car alarm was as effective as a bucket of ice water. Pulling apart, she fought to catch her breath, even as she slid her leg down slowly, fascinated by the struggle etched on his face as he began to compose himself. Standing once again, her foot came into contact with the gun that started it all.

They had very nearly had sex against the trunk of his car. Incredibly stupid, incredibly dangerous, incredibly probable they would have done so had they not been interrupted. Bending down to retrieve her weapon, he did his best to ignore the way the fabric clung to her as she smoothed her skirt back down.

'Focus' Smoothing out his shirt, he dropped the gun into the case, and then locked it.

Sydney studied his profile, realizing for the first time just how young he was, she sniffed when she realized that she was probably older than him. Smooth, pale skin over a strong chin and high cheekbones, then there was that damn lip.

One day she would have to ask how he had ended up with that scar. Distracted by her appraisal she realized he was staring at her, blue eyes assessing her, never flinching.

Only in that gaze would a person see any signs of age. Eyes that had witnessed the things others turned from. What she saw in them now she was afraid to name, it was too big, and too beautiful for any words she had. Seconds, minutes and still he held her eyes with his own. Sark had never been one to back down from whatever she had thrown at him and that meant so very much to her.

He was neither intimated nor dismissive of her strength; he simply countered it with his own. As charming as these revelations were, they were getting them no where. Tearing her eyes from his, glancing all too briefly at that lip, she slid a smile his way.

Tension had built between them and Sark couldn't help but wonder what it was she saw when she looked in his eyes. With her smile, the mood changed, her eyes flicked to his mouth as he took a step towards her. Just like that the map of his life altered, it would direct him now to wherever she was.

There would be no going back. She knew this it seemed, for she covered the last bit of distance on her own, wrapping her arm around his. Electricity race through him as her fingers trailed along his bottom lip. Even with now closed eyes, he could see her smile.

"Don't we have some where to be Mr. Sark?"

Christ he was hard, painfully so. Pressing a kiss to her temple and one that made her squirm, behind her ear, he led them to the elevator.

"That we do Agent Bristow."

Noting the smirk, she sent him one of her own and fell into step with him. Yes, she decided she liked walking with her fingers entwined with his, wondering what else she would discover she liked, she cut her eyes his way. A blush began to creep up her neck when he caught her staring. Damn that lip and the rising eyebrow, he was too damn cute for his own good.

Standing before the elevator doors, she reached for the button. Reality was beginning to sink in and she found herself curious as to where they were going. Tempted to ask, she decided against it. Why not enjoy one of the few surprises not dedicated to her family tree.

Doors before her opened and she felt hands press into her hips. Stepping forward she clutched at the railing she now found herself pressed against. His strength had caught her off guard, he had over powered her. As a kiss pressed into her neck, she felt her knees buckle. The sensation was as heady as the thought that whatever she dished he could take.

Having dropped the case, Sark turned her in his arms, catching her lip between his teeth. The moan encouraged him as he leaned into her. Control, composure, the basic things he prided himself on were forgotten the moment he touched her. Standing alone in an elevator had been too much of a temptation and so he had given in.

Her arms wound around his neck and once again he felt her fingers scraping at his shorn head, it seemed that was the only redeeming side effect to having his head shaved in prison.

The insistence with which her lips moved against his had him convinced she was as overwhelmed as he was. Sliding a hand up her waist he cupped her breast, pressing his fingers into the fullness, wishing there were less clothing between them.

Her gasp timed perfectly with the bell of the elevator and they froze. With heavy eyes, he drew back from her. Fighting to catch his breath and control his arousal, he looked her over.

Arms to her side, he noted how her fingers were white as she clutched the railing. At some point her hair had tumbled from its perch and now framed her face.

What a sight they were. The case had fallen to the floor between them and the third button of his shirt had come free. Noting how her lips were curling upwards and the light in her eye grew mischievous; he felt his own mouth twitch.

It was only when the bell sounded again did he realize they had yet to chose a floor, the elevator it seemed required a destination. Her hand flew to her mouth in a feeble attempt to cover the giggles that were spilling out.

A smile grew on his lips of their own accord. Peels of rich laughter followed, filling the car, it took a moment before he realized it was his own.

She had tried, honest to God, she had tried, but the laughter wouldn't stop. Sark laughed like he did everything else, full of confidence and deadly sexy.

How could the sound be so familiar when she had never heard it before? Shaking her head and wiping the tears that had gathered at the corner of her eyes, she found the strength to pull herself off the wall.

With smiles on both their faces they attempted to pull themselves together. Tucking her hair behind her ear and smoothing down her skirt, she picked up the case as he re-buttoned his shirt and finally appeased the elevator by selecting a floor.

Re-acquainting herself with his arm, she let him take the case and stepped off the elevator with a smile.

People were glancing their way and why not? They were a good-looking couple, confident, sexy and powerful. His face revealed nothing of their impropriety just moments ago.

Perhaps it would have been wise to slip on her game face, at least until they were alone again. Weighing her options, she decided against it. Let Agent Bristow wear the care and concern, it was Sydney who was walking arm and arm with the man next to her.

Weaving through families, tours and the anxious business traveler they headed for chartered flights, bypassing the long lines at standard check-in was nice. Security clearance was still required though.

As they approached the much shorter line, she felt a hand slip to the small of her back, a kiss followed, pressed into her temple. Maybe he hadn't gone as completely behind the mask as she had thought.

Finally making their way to the jet, he was grateful to be away from security. The looks the guard had been throwing her way had not gone unnoticed and he had felt the urge to smash his face in.

Tightening his hold on her waist, he opened the door that led to the tarmac. Long and white, the jet waited for them. Making their way up the stairs he passed off the case to the attendant. Cool air hit his face as he stepped into the air and the reality hit him just as hard.

He was about to fly away with Sydney Bristow unleashing the wrath of the CIA and more importantly Jack Bristow. The CIA he could handle, but he frowned at the thought of the elder Bristow's reaction.

'Was she worth it?' watching as she kicked off her shoes threw her cell phone on the chair before her, he smirked. She was worth dying for, she was worth living for.

Hearing footsteps approach behind him, he turned. The pilot stood at attention, awaiting instructions.

Glancing back at her, he knew this was her last chance to back out, but she seemed intent on finding something behind the bar. Absently pulling on his bottom lip, he weighed his options, several were at his disposal, but his mind kept circling back to one.

A hushed voice delivered their destination followed by a nodded dismissal and they were alone again. With hands in his pocket, he turned to see what she was up to.

It took all her self-control not to eavesdrop on the conversation behind her. Having resigned herself to the surprise of landing at some unknown location, she focused on finding, ah, there it is.

Victorious she pulled two packets out and with a smile stood up. From across the cabin he was watching her, the breath caught in her throat; with hands hidden the blue of his shirt lightened his eyes.

It was then she decided she did in fact like his hair shorn. Since their reunion she had been undecided on the issue. Not wanting to admit the debate had raged within her for fear the apocalypse would descend upon them.

Now thought she felt free to admit she had thought about both the long and short styles. There he stood a perfect picture of a man. 'My man' blushing at the insinuation made the devious little voice in her head; she pushed aside the thought and made her way over to him. Holding out her find, she watched his face as it registered what lay in her palm.

One simply could not fly without peanuts. He took the small silver package, his face expressionless. She had rolled her eyes twice at him in the past hour; she refused to do it a third, although he deserved it. Sliding her hands up his chest, she undid that third button again.

Noting that his eyes followed her movements, the air between them changed, thickened. Her fingers brushed again bare skin and the shudder that ran through him traveled through her fingertips and straight down her spine.

Wrapped suddenly in his arms, her hands slid up his neck, exploring the soft hair she had been admiring moments earlier. Peppering kisses across his cheeks and lips, he guided her towards one of the leather chairs that dotted along the wall of the cabin.

Catching on, she pulled her lips from his skin, judging the distance, she pushed him back, straddling him the instant he made contact with the seat. Thumbs smoothing out the arched eyebrow, she kissed away the smirk with determination.

He slipped his fingers back through her hair tilting her head until her neck was exposed. Seconds passed as teeth and skin collided; he drew back, admiring his handiwork, eager to see the bruise darken, his mark on her skin; a delicious thought for certain.

Christ, the noises she made were sinful; moans, gasps, breaths. They all seemed to tumble into him, she was consuming him.

No longer idle, the plane roared to life, she drew back then; smiled at him. Cupping her face in his hands, he smiled back at her. Memorizing how she looked the moment before she cupped his face in her hands; lips meeting now on an even playing field. They were finally ready for take-off.


End file.
